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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757406">it’s been a long day’s night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/McCully/pseuds/McCully'>McCully</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, forgive me for posting a 10 year old unfinished fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:06:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757406</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/McCully/pseuds/McCully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Look, I wrote this fic in my notes app in 2014, I have not read it since then, I’m just posting this and leaving it here to make its own way now. Abandon shame.</p><p>This fic is about Natasha joining S.H.I.E.L.D., being wildly underestimated, and kicking ass despite it all. Canon-compliant up through Winter Soldier, but I am not caught up enough on modern MCU to know if it still is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it’s been a long day’s night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please enjoy this fic! I actually do plan to finish this fic at some point (thanks, quarantine), but my writing style has changed a fair amount in 6 years. Be well, stay safe and healthy out there, folks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clint took a deep breath, the muzzle of the sniper trained on his target. The gun felt awkward and heavy in his arms, but the distance was too far for a bow. That's what the armorer said, at least, but Clint figured he probably shouldn't argue right now. What with the whole "Adopt a Russian Assassin" fiasco at S.H.I.E.L.D.<br/><br/>
Coulson had been pissed. Probably. Clint couldn't really tell with Phil, despite having him as a handler and a friend for years. Still, he imagined that Phil would be pissed.<br/><br/>
Clint's comm crackled to life in his ear, and he winced, trying to keep his aim steady.<br/><br/>
"Hey, Coulson," he muttered, regaining concentration.<br/><br/>
"Agent Barton," Phil replied. Aw man, he was pissed. He never called him that. Clint had been kept on house arrest for a few weeks and hadn't been able to see Coulson or Romanov during that time. It seemed that the time had done nothing to temper Coulson's fury. Or Fury's, for that matter.  "Are you planning on taking the shot sometime? Or are you waiting to adopt another potentially disastrous assassin into our midst?"<br/><br/>
"Oh, come on. It was one time!"<br/><br/>
"Yes, and I was specifically telling you NOT to do that," he responded in a strained voice.<br/><br/>
"Hey, not my fault. The comm was faulty! And I'm deaf, I couldn't hear you telling me to neutralize the target."<br/><br/>
"Yet you can recite exactly, word-for-word, what you couldn't hear me saying," his handler said, deadpan.<br/><br/>
"The world's a weird place," Clint chirped back. Coulson growled something under his breath that he couldn't catch. "What was that, Boss?"<br/><br/>
"Nothing," he murmured back. "Just thinking."<br/><br/>
"Penny for your thoughts?" Clint asked with forced joviality. He could have sworn he heard a quiet laugh in response. There was a pause on the other end of the line before he responded.<br/><br/>
"She's been quiet," Coulson told him quietly, all anger seeping from his voice. "I won't lie, I don't trust her. But we've been testing her."<br/><br/>
Clint's fingers twitched. "What?" he ground out with forced calm.<br/><br/>
"Not like that, Clint. But your concern isn't really necessary; the Red Room is not a pretty place. I doubt we could do anything new to her." He wasn't sure, but Clint could swear that heard a note of sadness in his handler's voice before it returned to strictly business. "No, we've been testing her abilities. Physical strength, endurance, fighting skills. Knowledge and strategy. I'll admit, I'm impressed. She'd make an incredible asset."<br/><br/>
"So the problem is...?" he asked, drawing the question out.<br/><br/>
"The lie detector. Fury's personal invention. I've never seen if fail before."<br/><br/>
"So... she's been lying?"<br/><br/>
"I'm not sure," Coulson admitted, sounding frustrated.<br/><br/>
"Well, you just said that it never fails. Right? So she's not lying."<br/><br/>
"You'd think that, wouldn't you."<br/><br/>
"Look, you're overthinking this. Probably. I really hope so," the assassin responded, furrowing his brows. "I mean, I could be totally wrong about this. But.... I trust her. Okay? I'm not saying you have to, and if I'm wrong, it's totally on me. But I don't think I am." Coulson sighed on the other end of the line.<br/><br/>
"Yeah, I hope you're right. Otherwise, we're both going to the dogs."<br/><br/>
"That's alright. I'm cool with dogs," Clint assured him. There was a pause on the line.<br/><br/>
"Clint," Phil replied slowly. "Clint, focus."<br/><br/>
"Hey! You brought it up. I'm just saying, I like dogs. Just. Y'know. Saying."<br/><br/>
"You can't get a dog."<br/><br/>
"Why not?" Clint demanded.<br/><br/>
"It's unprofessional."<br/><br/>
"I'm unprofessional!"<br/><br/>
"Just take the damn shot!" he replied with a forced evenness. Clint grinned and squeezed the trigger.</p><p>When Natasha met Clint, she was having a rough day.<br/><br/>
A very, very rough day.<br/><br/>
She had just returned from a six day mission that almost went horribly wrong. For one, she was misinformed and ended up having to take out twice as many men than she had originally intended to, which led to some creative uses for a lampshade and an improvised trip through a laundry chute. Then, a tip-off from a shady contact gave away her location, and she had to beat a hasty retreat with a trail of corpses and broken motorcycles in her wake. The target ran, she was tear gassed by riot police (it was one Molotov cocktail!), and she had to ride a horse for three hours. The silver lining was that, when an actual riot broke out, her crimes were blamed entirely on violent protesters. All in all, she had some minor but painful injuries and a couple notable injuries to tend to, a severe lack of sleep, and a typical amount of bone-deep exhaustion that went much further than a few days without rest. She was looking forward to spending a few days laying low in a hotel room in Baltimore, licking her wounds and healing the physical scars of her mission. So when she discovered a S.H.I.E.L.D. assassin waiting for her in her hotel room, she knew within seconds that she couldn't win this fight. Director Fury had bet on her getting hurt, and knew that he had one shot. That's why he sent Clint Barton. Who, as it turned out, screwed it all up.<br/><br/>
Natasha wasn't stupid. Clint was fully rested, fully prepared, and almost as deadly as Natasha. Still, she gave a hell of a fight. By the end of ten minutes, Clint was breathing hard, his left arm bathed in blood were she slashed him with a shard of a broken mirror. His ankle was probably broken and at least two ribs were bruised. But Natasha was down, her breathing shallow as she gazed up at the arrow aimed straight at her throat.<br/><br/>
She knew she was going to die. Until, suddenly, she wasn't. Whatever Clint saw in her, the subtle lift of her chin or the way she seemed just a little bit relieved, made Clint put away the arrow and hold out a hand. Too confused and losing too much blood to fight, she refused the hand but got up and followed him anyway.<br/><br/>
And so, she found herself in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. She thought this was a stupid idea on their part. Evidently, so did they.<br/><br/>
That was how she found herself sitting across from Maria Hill, who was examining her carefully. She hadn't met Director Fury yet. She wasn't allowed in the same room as him. She didn't blame them. So, she got to talk to Hill instead. After a very long pause where both women sat in silence, Hill spoke up.<br/><br/>
"Ms. Romanov, we're both aware why you're here," she began, raising an eyebrow. Natasha didn't even pretend to be confused. If it weren't for the split second decision made by one childish archer, S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't be in this mess and Natasha would be.... whatever she used to be. She didn't like to think about it. There was another long, pregnant pause.<br/><br/>
"I'm going to be honest with you, Ms. Romanov. You should be dead. You got on our radar, and you should NOT be back on it. However, you passed every test we threw at you with flying colors. You could be an incredible asset," Hill told her. Here, she paused to unlock a cabinet and pull our a small case. "However. You are on probation," she said, taking out two metal anklets that blinked ominously. "You are a serious risk to S.H.I.E.L.D. and frankly, there's only one person here who trusts you." Maria's blank stare made it obvious that it wasn't her. "So, you are not going to leave this facility. Possibly ever, if we decide that we can't risk it. You will wear these monitor anklets all day and all night. You will never take them off. If you try to leave this building, they will alert an agent, who will press a button, and they will release a jolt powerful enough to kill you. You will be given a bunk, and you can eat in the cafeteria. We will be watching you." With this, she handed Natasha the anklets and gestured at her legs. Natasha smiled benignly and took the anklets from her.<br/><br/>
"Why are there two of them?" Natasha asked with idle curiosity, turning them over in her hands and examining them. Agent Hill grimaced.<br/><br/>
"Well, I hate to give you ideas, but Hammer Tech isn't exactly known for its reliability. We're working out the kinks right now. In the meantime, you've got a backup." Natasha smirked and looked up at her.<br/><br/>
"You really trust me to put them on myself?"<br/><br/>
"Well, we could always shoot you, instead," she responded nonchalantly. Natasha could have sworn she saw the agent smirk for a moment. With a sigh, Natasha gracefully lifted her legs and set her boots on the corner of the desk. Leaning forward, she snapped the cuffs into place.<br/><br/>
"Satisfied?" she asked, setting her legs down and rising to her feet. Hill smiled tightly and nodded.<br/><br/>
"You can go." Natasha nodded and turned towards the door, but Hill stopped her. "One last thing," she called, and Natasha looked over her shoulder. "Be careful. I don't trust you, and I'm not an idiot. Most people at this compound only have the one thing going for them. I wouldn't start any fights, because we sure as hell aren't going to ignore that. Only Barton can get away with that," she finished in a long suffering tone. Natasha chuckled quietly, but took the warning in mind as she exited the office and set out looking for her bunk.</p><p>"The highlight of my day," Fury announced, his eye lifting to meet Agent Hills', "is going through the paperwork and trying to figure out how the hell I am supposed to explain that S.H.I.E.L.D. has decided to adopt a deadly Russian assassin because, and I quote, 'Barton.' Tell me you have good news."<br/><br/>
"She's wearing the anklets. Didn't even protest, and she seems to be settling in just fine. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet," she added, almost in an undertone. Fury raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment.<br/><br/>
"Remind me why we have two monitors?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Hill snorted, taking the seat across from Fury.<br/><br/>
"Well, I'd love to hear another suggestion, sir," she replied, barely managing to sound sincere.<br/><br/>
"We could get a less moronic engineering consultant, for one," he responded with a glare.<br/><br/>
"You know Stark would never go for that," she said, catching on immediately, "and Obadiah Slane certainly wouldn't let him. However, I think it would be a wise choice to start making friendly overtures to Virginia Potts. She's certainly professional, and I have no doubt that she's going to be running that company someday, anyways."<br/><br/>
"You think? You willing to bet on that?"<br/><br/>
"Gambling is illegal, sir," Hill responded, sliding twenty dollars across the table. Fury snorted, but still tucked the bill into his jacket.<br/><br/>
"Speaking of illegal, we still need to talk about Romanov. We need a plan, if something goes wrong. People aren't gonna be pleased, and we need a story. It's not something that we can ignore."<br/><br/>
"No, it isn't, sir," Agent Hill responded carefully. "Actually, there is something we need to talk about. I'm worried about keeping her here."<br/><br/>
"You and me both," he replied, picking up a file and opening it.<br/><br/>
"That's not quite what I meant, sir. It's just that... I'm not sure that the agents here are safe. If she does go rogue, they don't stand a chance," she told him hesitantly.<br/><br/>
"Of course not," he responded. "Ninety percent of them are below a Level 3 clearance. They can barely tell one end of gun from the other; she'd tear through them like tissue paper. But, if worst comes to worst, the higher level agents, not to mention the sheer number of armed morons, would bring her down."<br/><br/>
"Would they, though? Sir, with respect, even I don't know what she's capable of. Four fifths of her mission reports are so classified that you can't access the files without a clearance higher than Level 7. The other twenty percent are completely confidential. People don't even know what those missions involved. Mostly? People just hear rumors. They have no idea what she's really been doing. Do you really think that anyone can prepare for that?"<br/><br/>
"Honestly? No." he said, standing and turning to the window. "But is knowing going to help them? We can't tell them about the classified files. They're classified for a reason. They can make their own assumptions. All we can do now is hope that Barton made the right call."</p><p>Barton was kinda hoping that, too. He wasn't sure if he should knock, but Natasha's dorm had looked empty and so he had just sort of... gone in. Which, in hindsight, seemed like kind of an awful idea. Because there was a scary Russian assassin with her legs hooked into the ceiling and she was doing a scary amount of sit-ups in that position. And now he wasn't sure if she had heard him or not and it was awkward again.<br/><br/>
Suddenly, she flipped down from the ceiling and landed in front of him, swiping her leg and hitting his ankles. Which really hurt, considering that he had just had one of them broken by the same person. As the ground rushed up to meet him, he looked up at the redhead who now stared down at him with something like regret in her eyes.<br/><br/>
"Ow," Clint said, momentarily stunned. For some reason, his assassin reflexes weren't kicking in. That probably meant that he was safe and that she wasn't trying to kill him. Probably.<br/><br/>
"You're really fucking quiet, you know that?" she demanded, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. "Sorry," she muttered, as he dusted himself off. "I'm not used to people being able to sneak up on me. I didn't mean to hurt you."<br/><br/>
"Psh, I'm fine. Really, it's all good," he assured her and then instantly felt awkward. What was he supposed to say now? He hadn't even seen her since he had tried to kill her and then didn't. And that had been weeks ago. Oh god, he just snuck up on somebody he almost killed one time.<br/><br/>
"I'm really sorry," he blurted suddenly. "I totally forgot that I tried to kill you, I'm super s-"<br/><br/>
He was going to apologize more, but there was suddenly a small hand over his mouth.<br/><br/>
"No." Natasha said firmly. "We are both assassins. We kill people for a living. Don't apologize for that."<br/><br/>
Clint got it. They were assassins. Comrades in their nature. She was voicing the unspoken truth that all assassins knew. He opened his mouth, to ask her something, maybe, but realized that he couldn't.<br/><br/>
"Nthshtha?" he mumbled, and she quickly moved her hand. He found himself strangely disappointed. She had nice hands. Focus, Clint! a voice in his brain yelled. It sounded suspiciously like Coulson, and Clint resisted the urge to shudder. "Thanks."<br/><br/>
She nodded and moved over to her bunk to sit down. She indicated that he should join her, so he perched next to her on her bed. She gave him an odd look, but let the position slide.<br/><br/>
"So why were you looking for me?" she asked, looking down at her definitely not regulation sweatpants. Momentarily distracted, he pointed at her accusingly.<br/><br/>
"Well, for one, what gives? I've been asking for ages, and they never let me wear anything but the regulation blues!" he cried, gesturing at her comfortable outfit.<br/><br/>
"What?" She looked down at her outfit again, her eyebrows drawn down. "I... guess that since they're making me live here, they've been giving me "day-to-day" clothes?"<br/><br/>
"They've been making you live here?"<br/><br/>
In response, Natasha lifted the cuff of her pants to reveal an anklet. Clint wrinkled his nose and looked at her apologetically.<br/><br/>
"Yeah, that's actually why I came down to see you," he admitted, shrugging a little. "I wanted to make sure that you were. Y'know. Alright." He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. "S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't known for being warm and cuddly all the time. And then I heard that you were sticking around, so..." 
<br/><br/>
Clint tried not to flinch at his own wording, and mostly failed. Natasha, however, looked legitimately thoughtful as she considered his words.<br/><br/>
"Clint..." she began slowly, looking at him. "Why did you save me?"<br/><br/>
How did she know my name? Natasha continued looking at him, one eyebrow slowly rising. Okay. Not the time. Focus.<br/><br/>
"You know how you were saying, earlier, that we can't apologize for what we've done? Like... ever?" Natasha nodded mutely. "Well, I want to believe... to 
believe that we can be good, too. That we're not all bad. And I've been trying to be good, to make the world a better place... and I saw you, sitting there, and you looked... relieved. That you could be free from whatever or whoever had been making you be bad for so long. And maybe that was you, it was you making you do these things. But I saw you, and I just hoped... that maybe it would be easier. That it would be easier to be redeemed if there was someone else I could do it with. Then I would at least know that I wasn't the only one that wanted to be better."<br/><br/>
Natasha nodded, and the two of them sat like that for a minute, basking in a silence that was somehow more comfortable than the one before. Sometimes, it was surprisingly easy to trust people when you could always tell when they were lying.<br/><br/>
"Hey, actually," Clint started, suddenly remembering "I was wondering about this earlier-- how'd you know my name was Clint?" Natasha shrugged and rolled her eyes.<br/><br/>
"Context," she told him before elaborating. "Agent Hill was complaining about you to someone else-- Sitwell? She was saying something about an archer."<br/><br/>
"She called me stupid, didn't she. Also, you heard this?"<br/><br/>
"I've been eavesdropping," she told him frankly. "I like to know my environment. Unfortunately, it's been difficult, since they've been watching me pretty much constantly." She grimaced, rubbing unconsciously at her ankle that was crossed over her leg.<br/><br/>
"You could try the vents," Clint suggested, pointing at a grate above her bunk. She raised an eyebrow and he held his hands up innocently. "They're way big," he began, ticking off fingers, "they carry sound from below beautifully, and there are no cameras.<br/><br/>
"Although, actually, I probably shouldn't have told you that," he mumbled, suddenly frowning. "Okay, as a government employee, I feel obligated to tell you not kill anyone, please?"<br/><br/>
She nodded impassively and turned to stare speculatively at the grate.<br/><br/>
"Thanks for the tip."</p><p>"Agent Hill?" a voice called into her comm, and Maria turned from the monitor to press a hand to her ear.<br/><br/>
"Yes?"<br/><br/>
"It's Romanov. I'm-- we've lost her. We can't find her on the cameras."<br/><br/>
"What?" Adrenaline pumped through her blood, and Hill sprang to action, unhooking her gun from her holster and running to the control room. They could not afford to have Romanov escape. They were already on precarious ground, but losing a Russian assassin would wreck irreparable damage. "Where is she? 
Why haven't you sounded the alarm?"<br/><br/>
"Well, ma'am, that's the thing. I checked her monitor-- she's still in the building. I just can't tell where."<br/><br/>
"Hold on, I'm almost to your booth," Maria told her, and entered the control room at a much more sedate pace. "Show me the tracker?"<br/><br/>
As she watched, Romanov moved from room to room, slowly inching through walls and in straight lines. Smothering a heavy sigh, Hill turned to the young woman working the monitor.<br/><br/>
"Could you pull up a diagram of the building layout, please?" Agent Hill requested. A moment later, the blueprints joined the map on the screen.<br/><br/>
"She's in the ducts?" the young agent asked incredulously.<br/><br/>
"It appears so," Hill replied. "At least we know that she and Barton are friends," she muttered ruefully.<br/><br/>
"Wait-- ma'am-- are we just going to let her stay in there?" Maria shrugged.<br/><br/>
"She can't get out of the building that way. She isn't killing anybody. I count it as a win," she responded, and stepped out of the room to continue doing her 
job.</p><p>Clint wasn't lying when he said that the vents were good for reconnaissance. Natasha had slipped into the vents that were so roomy that you could almost call them comfortable. Sure, any sound she made echoed for miles, but that was a laughably small problem for someone that doesn't make noise. Like, ever. Still, the tip was appreciated. Natasha had spent too long not knowing where she stood with S.H.I.E.L.D., and it wasn't something that she wanted to continue doing.<br/><br/>
So, she had slipped into her old catsuit (if she was getting caught, she sure as hell wasn't getting caught in sweatpants) and crawled into the vents. She was planning on catching some low level agents, the ones who would best represent public opinion of her, as they gathered around the proverbial water cooler to discuss work. As she turned another corridor and shimmied over a gaping path down, she paused over a grate that showed two men standing by an actual, literal water cooler. Natasha sighed a little and leaned down to listen. Americans.<br/><br/>
The conversation was mostly uninteresting and pigheaded, which would explain why they weren't in the higher levels of S.H.I.E.L.D. They usually only put people who weren't idiots in charge of the important things. Natasha almost grew too bored and was about to leave to find a better conversation to listen in on, but suddenly, they mentioned her name. Well, one of her names.<br/><br/>
"Hey, did you hear about the infamous 'Black Widow'?" one asked in a derisive tone, doing air quotes. The other snorted and leered at his companion.<br/><br/>
"Well, I've certainly seen her. Her mission reports are mainly confidential, but I've heard of all the stuff she's done. I've got connections," here, both his friend and Natasha smothered a laugh. "No, seriously!" he insisted, before continuing his analysis. "She does political assassinations, but it's obvious that she has a lot of backup. I mean she's, what, 5' 2"? She couldn't do much damage to anybody if she tried. I mean, she's only got one thing going for her," he said, clarifying his insinuation with a crude gesture. Natasha sighed again, shaking her head. "Honestly, I think that Praying Mantis would be a better name for her. It's obvious how she does it, isn't it? She gets in there, she sleeps with the target, and after they're done? She poisons them. Or something. How else could she do it? And her uniform is a catsuit. Honestly, she's just screaming out-" Natasha stopped listening, since these morons were obviously done with polite conversation. Not that she particularly cared about what was considered polite, but it was frustrating dealing with idiots without class. At least politicians could pretend to be cultured.<br/><br/>
So, after the agents bid each other farewell (she took especial note of their names-- Agents Bart and Ludwig), she kept crawling through the vents and listening to the conversations of morons around the building. For the most part, the higher level agents considered her a threat, which she appreciated, but not something to worry about too much, which was stupid. The lower level agents, a good 75% of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s workforce, didn't seem to think she was capable of using a gun and weren't the least bit concerned. In fact, the overwhelming sense that Natasha got was that S.H.I.E.L.D. was actually a bunch of American high schoolers who gossiped nonstop about the new girl in town. So far, every opinion of her was overwhelmingly negative, which didn't really bother her. After all, she had found a fellow assassin to be friends with (and wasn't that a novel idea) and she was pretty sure that Agent Hill respected her.<br/><br/>
The trip back to her room was uneventful, except for one young agent who was examining a monitor. As Natasha passed overhead, she glanced up a bit warily at the ducts.<br/><br/>
Ah. Monitoring station, Natasha thought to herself.<br/><br/>
Her room was empty when she returned, but she still checked to make sure that she didn't have any surprise agents before she began changing. She took care to do her makeup and hair, and changed into a suitably revealing outfit that someone would wear if they wanted to roll an ankle in a fight. With a sigh, Natasha stood and ran a few steps to see how the heels that S.H.I.E.L.D. provided would work. Surprisingly well, considering that they added a good five inches to her height. Just as she was adding the finishing touches to her outfit, she heard a tentative knock on the door.<br/><br/>
"Come in," she called, making her voice sound tremulous and slumping.<br/><br/>
"Tasha?" Clint called, before coming in and looking at her with confusion. "What are you wearing? Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. Natasha straightened up and pulled her shoulders back again.<br/><br/>
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just playing to expectations. Makes it easier."<br/><br/>
"How do you mean?" Clint asked, sitting down on her bunk and resting his head in his hands.<br/><br/>
"Well, I took your advice. Vents are great, by the way, thank you. I heard some conversations, and mostly people think that I'm a seductress who used poison to kill anyone and needs a good deal of backup."<br/><br/>
"Well that's stupid," Clint told her, frowning. "I only fought you for ten minutes and you were already injured pretty badly and I still got kind of owned. You're scary good."<br/><br/>
She smiled at him, but turned back to the mirror to continue doing her makeup. "Well, yes, I am. But they don't know that. And I can't tell them that they're wrong, because my missions are all classified, and I can't prove that they're wrong, because Hill told me not to start any fights. Plus," she added, "it's easier to play into people's expectations. It makes them happy to think that they're right. And I look pretty damn good in heels," she concluded bluntly. Clint wasn't going to argue, and only partially because he was pretty sure she would be able to kill him.<br/><br/>
They headed out of her room together, Natasha instantly taking on a weaker posture and looking a bit wobbly in her heels. Clint resisted the urge to steady her, since he knew that it was an all an act, but it was really disorienting to see her act like this. She smiled a bit vapidly, and he knew that everyone who saw her would make stupid assumptions based on her appearance. He almost fell for it, himself, until he remembered the sit-ups from the ceiling and the cracked ribs and the hundreds of kills attributed to her. Right. Deadly assassin friend. Focus.<br/><br/>
They headed to the cafeteria together, since it was lunchtime and they both needed to eat, but it wasn't a fun environment to eat in. It was like being in a school cafeteria where you know that everyone's talking about you. Probably, at least. Neither of them ever really had the traditional school experience.<br/><br/>
"So do you?" Clint asked her suddenly, as they waited in the food line.<br/><br/>
"Do I what?" she asked, piling food onto her plate and shooting the server a winning smile. She glared back, scoffing and sneering as she looked Natasha up 
and down. Clint clenched his fist under the table.<br/><br/>
"Y'know. Seduce people."<br/><br/>
"Yes? I'll do.... I did do anything to complete a mission. Failure wasn't really an option. If I have a choice? I prefer not to. I prefer to just neutralize the target, no muss, no fuss, but I'm not above using any assets to my advantage." She punctuated this remark by leaning forward, which was such a bizarre gesture to see her using that Clint actually leaned back a little. Tasha frowned and leaned back. "Huh. That was a weird reaction."<br/><br/>
"Sorry...?" Clint replied, shaking his head. He grabbed his pizza from his place and started digging in.<br/><br/>
"You enjoying your pizza?" Tasha asked, looking at him with amusement. Clint swallowed, scorching his throat on the way down.<br/><br/>
"Nah, it kinda sucks," he admitted, shrugging, "but a subpar pizza is still better than pretty much any other good food. So you don't mind people thinking about you like that?"<br/><br/>
"No...? Why would I be? I'm good at my job. I'm dedicated. I've seen your James Bond films. It's like that, but I was Russian and I'm much, much better than him. Does it matter if I happen to also be a woman?"<br/><br/>
"No, I s'pose not. I should stop listening to American media, though."<br/><br/>
Tasha chuckled quietly at that, but stopped when a massive shadow loomed over her shoulder. A tall, broad shouldered thug was behind her, leering down at the two of them. Clint watched movies sometimes, when he wasn't on mission, and he knew that this was a cliche bad guy moment. At least they were all S.H.I.E.L.D., right?<br/><br/>
Clint listened to their exchange, the guy ridiculing and mocking her. Clints' fists were clenched so hard that the nails bit into his palms and threatened to break skin, but he still wanted to smash the guy's face in. Natasha looked on the verge of tears and Clint stood partway up to leap at the guy, act or no, when Tasha swept him a look from behind her curtain of hair. She rolled her eyes and smirked, and Clint remembered that she could disembowel the guy if she wanted to. He sat down, and forced himself to ignore the rest of the exchange. Finally, as the guy started to reach the point where other people were watching them, Natasha ran out of the room, sobbing into her arm. Clint stood up and followed her, ignoring the eyes around him.<br/><br/>
He found her in her room, her makeup already removed and her hair into a messy bun. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and Clint could have cried in relief.<br/><br/>
"Ohthankgod," he cried in a rush when he saw her back to normal. "That was the most surreal experience of my life. You are way, WAY too good at that."<br/><br/>
"Thanks," Natasha said with a smile.<br/><br/>
"I was about to rearrange that guy's face."<br/><br/>
Tasha threw him a look. "I could have done that myself, if I wanted to. Trust me, if I need to be defended, I will defend myself."<br/><br/>
"But how am I supposed to show comrade solidarity if I don't punch people in the face for you?" Clint jested, knocking his shoulder against hers. Tasha laughed.<br/><br/>
"You'll figure something out."</p><p>"When I said that you would figure something out, I'll admit, I did not consider that you actually would," Natasha reflected, flipping through the VHS tapes in her hands. Clint grinned and continued to plug in and set up his VCR player.<br/><br/>
"Sorry? I wanted to watch movies, you happen to be one of my only friends. It seemed logical enough," he shrugged, finally pressing the power button to show a glowing blue screen. "C'mon, pick a movie."<br/><br/>
Tasha handed him one of the tapes, and Clint had to stifle a laugh when she handed him a battered copy of Pocahontas. Nat raised an eyebrow, subtly crossing her arms and shifting her stance. Clint swallowed, feeling a mixture of terrified and admiring. He had never met anyone with the ability to instill a sense of fear in other people so thoroughly.<br/><br/>
"Any comments?" she asked, with a deceivingly innocent expression. Clint hated that expression. It was an expression of fear and broken things. His broken things, specifically. Clint vigorously shook his head and popped the movie into player.<br/><br/>
As the opening sequence began, Clint picked his way over to where Tasha was throwing some pillows onto her couch with one hand and holding a slice of pizza in the other hand. The couch was red, which suited her, and was large and comfortable. Seeing as it hadn't been in the room when she got here, Clint wasn't really sure where she had gotten it, as she wasn't exactly let out and about. He also wasn't sure how she had gotten it into her room without anybody noticing, since someone in the building was probably missing a very nice couch at this point. Still, it was squishy, and he wasn't inclined to complain.<br/><br/>
Nat was curled under a heap of blankets, pillows sprawled everywhere and munching thoughtfully on a pizza and watching a Disney movie, but she still somehow managed to look like she could kill a man. Clint sighed, already resigned to the fact that she was probably gonna be his best friend for life. Not a bad thought.<br/><br/>
Clint grinned and crawled onto the couch, grabbing a slice from the box along the way. Tugging on a blanket, he nestled under a fuzzy blue monstrosity that Mrs. Coulson had made for him the first time he had been shot on mission. Phil had handed it to him in the hospital, rolling his eyes at Clint. Clint had laughed so hard that he tore his stitches.<br/><br/>
The movie began, both assassins munching quietly, and Clint resisted the urge to sing along. Within minutes, though, he realized that Natasha had somehow ended up with all 9 blankets, and he sang as loudly (and off-key) as he could in retaliation. Laughing, Natasha threw a pillow at his face, and they settled back down in the middle, curled up in a cacoon of blankets. When the final strains of music faded and the tape whirred in the VCR, Natasha sighed and cuddled further into their nest.<br/><br/>
"This pizza was incredible," Natasha called, taking the last slice from the box and taking a massive bite. Clint frowned down at her, making an affronted noise in the back of his throat.<br/><br/>
"What are you talking about, man? That pizza was not even good. Especially for NYC."<br/><br/>
"Seriously? God, if this is bad, I can't wait to try the good stuff. When are we getting good New York food?" Natasha looked at Clint with puppy dog eyes that looked incredibly unnatural on her face, and Clint shuddered.<br/><br/>
"First of all, that face is super disconcerting, and secondly, never, probably. I'm broke as hell."<br/><br/>
Nat laughed at that, and Clint counted it as a win.</p><p>As the S.H.I.E.L.D. halls got colder and the snow started collecting in doorways, Clint and Natasha fell into a rhythm of movies, lunches in the cafeteria (when Natasha felt like making an appearance), and lunches in her room (when Clint didn't want to deal with the constant background noise, since most agents didn't bother to learn any ASL), and sparring in the gym (late at night, when Natasha didn't have to pretend to suck). S.H.I.E.L.D. kept up with routine tests on Natasha from mundane history trivia to bizarre "intoxication tests", which would have been more fun if they didn't ban Clint from inventing a drinking game to make it interesting. All in all, Clint was happy, S.H.I.E.L.D. was relatively calm, and it naturally couldn't last for long.<br/><br/>
For the first time in months, Clint received an official memo to ship out in his apartment. After the initial irritation at the break-in, he groaned because a) the last time he was in Australia, he was almost eaten by an honest-to-God laser shark while nursing an excruciating hangover and b) he was scheduled to be gone for 3 weeks.<br/><br/>
Clint packed quickly, remembering to bring a swimsuit in the nick of time, and then made his way to Nat's quarters to say goodbye.<br/><br/>
"NAT?" he called, sticking his head in the door. When no one responded, he walked in and set his bag down to wait for her to return. Within minutes, the grate above his head clanged open and Natasha dropped to the floor in front of him.<br/><br/>
"Hey! What's up?" she asked, grinning as she pulled her boots off. Clint asked her once why she hated shoes so much, but she answered in Russian, so he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know.<br/><br/>
"I'm getting deployed for a couple weeks in Australia," he sighed, scrunching his face up. Natasha rolled her eyes and sat next to him, nudging his shoulder with hers.<br/><br/>
"Bring me something cool back," she responded, and he nodded.<br/><br/>
"Obviously. You think you can handle it back here?" he asked, mostly joking. Natasha nudged him harder this time.<br/><br/>
"Can you?" she responded, cocking an eyebrow. "Call if you need help."<br/><br/>
"Of course. See you in a bit."<br/><br/>
With that, he nodded, walked out the door, and winked on his way out.</p>
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